


The Gifts of Winter

by JonsaInTheNorth



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-14
Updated: 2016-09-14
Packaged: 2018-08-15 01:15:59
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,204
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8036542
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JonsaInTheNorth/pseuds/JonsaInTheNorth
Summary: Sansa's hand is the important seal in a pact with the Vale. Jon doesn't react well.





	The Gifts of Winter

**Author's Note:**

> Original Prompt: Still crying over your fic where Jon leaves Sansa behind. Could you maybe write one where Sansa has to go marry Sweetrobin and Jon basically loses his mind from the heartbreak? This time maybe we can have a happy ending and Sansa will decide not to marry Sweetrobin and return home.

Bronze Yohn Royce’s proposal escapes Jon’s thought for the first few days. He does not want to think about it, so he does not. But when Robert Arryn arrives at Winterfell’s gate, done up like a proper Southron lord in all his silken finery, Jon must recognize the deep hole that has become their affection’s grave.

Sansa carefully steps into the yard, in heavy grey wool with her hair pleated back and tossed over one shoulder. Thunder rolls inside Jon's heart, to see her approach the little southern lord with grace the boy does not deserve. She greets Robert carefully, a nickname on her lips and a warm smile that Jon has never seen her give anyone. 

An irrational anger comes over him as he sees the way the interact, but it does not take too long to realize how she looks at Sweetrobin. He is like her son, holding her carefully and tightly and burying his head into her belly. Robin refuses to let go, until finally Lord Royce forcefully pulls him off. 

“My lord, you must wait until the betrothal is official before you act in such a manner!” His caretaker chastises, and Sansa’s face falls. Jon is sure is own does too, watching them there before the entire keep's population.

Robin crosses his arms over his chest and storms to the guest chambers that have been prepared for him. Sansa disappears back into the keep. After a moment, Jon follows after her with careful steps. 

"Lord Arryn seems… kind." Jon ventures, when he finds Sansa tucked in the back corner of the library. It is an odd place for her to be found, not her usual haunt, but he knows that's why she likes to come here to be alone. No one expects to find her here, and so they don't search for her within the stacks of dusty books and ancient shelves. 

Her laugh is shrill and thin, not one of joy but of spite. "Kind and six years my junior and a southerner besides."

"Well, also that." He runs a hand through his hair, stepping over to where she perches in a window seat. 

"I had hoped…" She begins, but shakes her head. "I had hoped to avoid all this, to spend the rest of my days in Winterfell. Even after everything, my head is still full of stupid songs."

"You still can, Sansa." Jon says, stepping towards her. "Say the word, tell me this isn't what you want, and I'll put an end to it. Lady Mormont will surely support us with some words to put the others in their place, if I ask it."

Sansa shakes her head and leaps from the windowsill. She sets a gentle hand against his forearm. "Men move the pieces, are the players. I'm merely a bit of ivory on a cyvasse board, don't you see? The politics are happening behind closed doors, my future isn't mine to decide. I will do my duty, Jon, as I was reared to do, even if I do it sadly."

Her eyes linger on him for a moment, sadness creeping in so similar to that which he himself feels. Winter brought them closer to each other than the summers of their youth, but even now the new season tries to split them, split her from her pack. It is always Sansa who the outsiders try to break, and now as before she goes willingly. Love and duty, so intermingled, yet so different. "Sansa you mustn't-"

"I must Jon, and so must you." She seethes. In a wave of skirts, she sweeps past him, chin high to hide the tears that threaten to ruin her complement facade.

After that, he makes sure to avoid running into others for days, including her.

Jon only appears in the training yard, swirling in a blaze of angered heat with every strike of his practice blade against that of his opponent's. Little Lord Arryn comes once and tries to hold a sword, but falls apart in a flurry of tears the first instant someone jabs him, demanding for the young squire's head. 

There is nothing Jon can do to keep Sansa from taking this boy for her husband. Littlefinger joins in on the deal, doing anything to pull Sansa away from Winterfell, away from home. Lord Manderly supports it too, sees plenty of advantages that cannot go unsupported. They will sign the pact when Sweetrobin is old enough to wed, but before then Sansa will go and stay in the Vale. The night before the party will lead for the Vale, Arya storms into his room and slams his door behind her.

“You’re a righteous idiot, Jon.” Arya shakes her head. “Are you really letting her go, with that fool of a cousin of ours?”

“I can’t-”

“You are the King in the North.” She growls, her wolf showing. “Don’t you dare say you can’t stop your vassals from taking my sister, from taking the woman you love. She has suffered enough, she  _mustn’t_ go south.”

He paces all night. The next morning, earlier than anyone is typically awakes, he sends Satin to summon Sansa to his solar. She appears disheveled in only her nightrail, tendrils of red hair escaping her plait.

"Jon, we need this alliance." She sighs and tenses her hands against the surface of his desk. "The North needs me to do this."

When at last he breaks the silence to look at her and speak, his eyes gleam with unshed tears. "But I need you more."

And then he is on her, lips connecting in a hurried rush. He pulls her close, refusing to hesitate in what might be the only moment they will ever share. Her scent is light and airy, like flowers and pine and hearttrees:  _home_. Her hands are in his hair, moving along his back, caressing his face, feeling him in any way they could.

He thrusts he head back, already yearning for the touch he chose to escape. "Don't go south. Stay here, with me. With our family. Promise me you won't agree to leave, no matter how much Lord Manderly insists."

"What would you have me do?" She steadily holds his cheeks and his gaze. "If I don't do this, we need another solution."

Jon strokes his thumb against her knuckles. He ponders for a moment and then another, long silence stretching out between them. "We can offer ironwood, and only offer it to the Arryns for a decade. And another daughter of the North. No Lord, however proud, will stop his daughter from being Lady of the Eyrie.

“Manderly will bluster and Littlefinger will snarl, but Bronze Yohn will keep his unhappy thoughts to himself.” He grasps her hands in his, so tight her fingers numb and whiten. “But you will stay here, with me.” 

Jon is emphatic when he appears at Bronze Yohn’s chambers to undo all the work his council has done. A new deal is struck, a new Lady chosen- 

Winter kept them safe, warm, together. Spring brought deals and politics beyond his care. But Spring will not take Winter’s gifts, and despite whatever roaring winds the diplomats can conjure up, Spring will not take her.

**Author's Note:**

> Come hang out and fangirl about GOT and ASOIAF with me on [tumblr](jonsa-in-the-north.tumblr.com).


End file.
